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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29178762">Nobody. No body. No.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crysy/pseuds/Crysy'>Crysy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internal Conflict, Other, Short, Why Did I Write This?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:54:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>659</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29178762</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crysy/pseuds/Crysy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>Trigger warning: Okay this might be triggering for those with/associated/uncomfortable with depression and suicide. But at the same time I can't really say it's about depression? Like this is based on what I go through daily so I wouldn't say it's depression. (Please don't cancel me for "misrepresenting depression" I'm not representing people with depression with this just so we're clear.) But yes it might be uncomfortable for some.</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Nobody. No body. No.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Trigger warning: Okay this might be triggering for those with/associated/uncomfortable with depression and suicide. But at the same time I can't really say it's about depression? Like this is based on what I go through daily so I wouldn't say it's depression. (Please don't cancel me for "misrepresenting depression" I'm not representing people with depression with this just so we're clear.) But yes it might be uncomfortable for some.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Testing the limits on how tight life clings on to someone when they reach the edges of death. Witnessing as the one chance they have to descend into the mysterious arms of purgatory slowly ebbs away from them. Isn’t that the true fascination of life? Not seeing how much useless innovation one can come up with. Not trying to live life as long as possible. But watching, observing, as one looms closer and closer to death, then being forced back to the realm of the living. That is what sparks the soul.</p><p>Those who dare test the waters are either daredevils or cowards. Looked up to or detested by society. And Clay is one of them.</p><p>
  <em> “So I open the window. To hear sounds of people. To hear sounds of people.” </em>
</p><p>In the day, Dream is an entertainer. A streamer who spends hours etched on a plastic screen, playing block games with a plethora of voices. Relishing in his role as a puppet of the society chain, he sleeps with carpets draped with papers that others are always chasing after. It’s a perfect life.</p><p>At night, Clay roams the streets of Florida. More accurately, the buildings of Florida. Clay balances on railings on buildings fourteen stories high, playing games of Poker with death taking the shape of the pavements below. And each time, Clay loses. Either to a phone call from Clay’s best friends George or Sapnap, or to himself, stumbling back onto safe ground. Sometimes, Clay gets close to winning. It’s the perfect life.</p><p>
  <em>“Did its people want too much too? Did its people want too much?” </em>
</p><p>The voices in Dream’s head get louder. They sound murky, unpleasant, but only serve as a small distraction to him, barely noticeable. He continues to entertain, continues to talk to small circles of people’s voices with frequent wheezes and a dash of happiness. The voices don’t get louder, but they don’t stop either. He ignores them. He continues to play block games on his plastic screen. The chat on his plastic screen starts to fill up with comments expressing concern and the people start to ask him questions frantically. He ignores them. The voices are easy to ignore. The voices are easy to ignore.The voices are still there.</p><p>Dream cannot ignore the voices in his head.</p><p>
  <em>“I just want to feel alright.”</em>
</p><p>“George, what does it feel like to be alive?”</p><p>“Dream. What’s happening to you? Recently you’ve been so detached from everything and all the energy you used to have seems to have disappeared. Are you okay?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>You used to call me Clay.</p><p>
  <em>“And I know no one will save me.”</em>
</p><p>Today, Clay stays in his house. Clay’s room is humid, with the air-conditioner broken, there’s nothing he can do about it. So, he opens the windows and the full moon catches his eye. It’s been years since Clay looked at the moon in its full beauty and the scene truly captivated him.</p><p>How long has it been since I felt truly happy? How long has it been since talking to my friends weren’t a burden, a chore? How long has it been since I started toying with my life?</p><p>It’s been years. Clay shuts the windows.</p><p>
  <em> “Nobody. Nobody. No body. No.” </em>
</p><p>Clay stared at the ground before him. Suddenly, the pavements seemed so near, like Clay wasn’t fifteen stories above ground, standing beyond a fence, stuck in a stalemate with death. It felt soothing. The calm wind stirring peacefulness in his heart, the quiet allowing him to close his eyes and hear the voices clearly. It was all soothing.</p><p>What a cute way to shake life off my hands. Clay knew he was beyond saving this time, for miracles don’t happen every time. And they certainly won’t happen now. For once, the voices in his head subsided and eventually disappeared. Clay had never felt so light in his life. He finally won the Poker game.</p><p>Dream jumped.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wrote this in half an hour because it's late and I can't function. This fanfiction is not a representative of depression or anything associated with it. In fact, the ending is open and does not necessarily imply suicide. I'm so sorry if this was really uncomfortable to read it's just me writing out my thoughts because it makes me feel better. Inspired by "Nobody" by Mitski.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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